Page 66 of Property of Whiskey

That annoys me more than if he smiled.

Bullet slides one arm carefully behind Kaylee and another beneath her knees. She flinches before he gets her fully lifted, and he stops immediately.

“Too fast?”

She nods.

“Sorry.”

He waits until her breathing settles, then tries again slower. I watch him carry her from the van like she weighs something precious. Another thing that doesn’t fit. I hate this whole fucking day.

Whiskey reaches for me.

I pull back. “Don’t.”

“Need you out.”

“I’m staying here.”

“No, you ain’t.”

“I can sit here all damn day.”

“So can I.”

“Fine.”

“Fine.”

We stare at each other.

Bullet walks past carrying Kaylee.

“Y’all have fun.”

“Fuck off,” Whiskey says.

“Already leaving.”

Bullet transfers Kaylee to the front passenger seat, angles it back so she doesn’t have to sit upright, then secures the belt carefully around her before closing the door.

I glance toward Whiskey. “You’re letting her ride in front?”

“She’s hurt.”

“That don’t answer the question.”

“It does if you ain’t looking for shit that ain’t there.”

Whiskey jerks his chin toward the open rear doors. “There. Out.”

“No.”

He closes his eyes for a second. “Twila.”

“Whiskey.”

“Don’t make this harder.”